Bob N. Boguslavski's Blog

It’s that big day again. Yip, yup, yep. It's hard to resist commentatin' some on all this.



It sort of creeps up on your sorry ass, so sneakily smoove [sic] and subtly without any warning, and then Ba-Bam!



Remembering back years ago, BNB was down in Cancun for a mid-winter wedding just after this special day, so it was combinated [sic] for added life effect.

Sun, sand, sea, surf and cervezas, along with the girlfriend partner of significance at the time. What could go wrong?

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Two posts recently covered notable 'c' words in conversate and cocksucker. Bob won’t bother to explain coink-e-dink, since that’s pretty obvious and he throws that one around a lot.

We’ll complete our c-word trifecta instead with the grand daddy of them all, at least as covered in Bob’s debut novel. This particular word will no doubt agitate some, but hey, it is what it is, here in North A-merry-ka.



In different parts of the world, its meaning is not necessarily as harsh. It is even a term of affection. Switch gears to another language with Spanish for even more versatility and added meanings of the word.

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Here's one early paperback reader's suggested preferred serving presentation as regards consuming Wedding Chronicles. One imagines it could work just as well with any other book.



Repeat accompanying complementary "medicinal" beverage à volonté. As with all alco-pops, there's never a specific recommended serving size printed on the bottle. You figure that shit out yourself.

If one zooms in on the glass, it actually has "University of Toronto Medicine" emblazoned on there. How prescient of our reader, who knows what medicine be all about.



The photo was taken somewhere in Canuckistan, well into scotch whisk(e)y o'clock time, on July 6, 2014.



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While not a full-on reader review per se on the usual book platforms, since someone was on munch patrol, Bob decided to dredge up this past Tweet and sling it here nonetheless.

"This is such an addicting book. It seems to follow me everywhere I go."
#WeddingChronicles @BogusBobby #GoodBook



Original Tweet: July 7, 2014 | Source: https://twitter.com/michellexx0o/stat...

One word guaranteed to make many a folk bristle or get triggered is “conversate.”



It ain’t no word per many.



So what’s the real deal here, and are the self-appointed guardians of the English grammar galaxy correct?

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There are some great words that folks can label somebody with, and one of Bob’s faves is this one.



Expressive, but not as harsh as others, and as a bonus, in today’s increasingly polygender and/or gender neutral world we find ourselves in, it has more potential application than ever before since it’s neither here nor there in that sense, and also whether so in reality (by action) or just by derogatory conceptual meaning.



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Legal disclaimers are everywhere in our lives.



The most blatant ones are suitably in the “land of litigation,” aka USA, and industrywise, Big Pharma takes the gold medal by a long shot.

Bob was inspired by some of those drug ads and their potential “side effect" disclaimers at the end to put his own together for Wedding Chronicles.

Given some of the culinary choices on the menu in Iceland, as regards certain animals and consumption therein, Bob got in on the action with his own similarly suitable situation disclaimer. He also needed to cover his ass regarding some of the graphically descriptive content about said food options.

Legal Disclaimer: No puffin, whale, sheep, shark, or any other animal(s)
was physically harmed, whole, in part, or effigy thereof, during the writing
of this chapter. Any reference to a real puffin, whale, sheep, or shark, living
or dead, is all a fig mint [sic] of your imagination. Further, this limited warranty
shall not extend to previous or subsequent chapters, let alone to follow-on
future works, be they related, derivative, or otherwise, and in paper, electronic,
or other future matter/energy forms. Consumption of said animals, raw, cooked,
or part way along said process, regardless of preparation methodology, is
another matter altogether, and may cause abdominal cramping, constipation,
loose stools, projectile vomiting, other illness(es), and/or a combination thereof,
to varying degrees of severity, but not necessarily in that order, so caveat lector.



With eats as described and seen above, one never knows when someone traumatized, offended, or with time on their hands, might exact some frivolous legal thang on an author’s ass, even if all imaginated [sic] in the book to mess with the reader's head.

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There’s a lot of material out there on marriage advice and how to keep stuff together long term. It’s dished out by an industry of professional counsellors, journalists, bloggers, talking heads, pundits and assorted punters in the space. Some are more academic, or prim and proper, rather than simple, straight-up street savvy.





Bob’s into unearthing kernels of advice straight from the trenches via people living it, who just say it how it is, based on their real experience and lessons learned. Case in point was this exchange with 92-year-old “Pops” di Tomaso, family patriarch, at this 2007 wedding.

Here’s his take on a silky smoove 64.5 year run of wedded bliss, and five rules for the fellas to take away and put into practice.

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You know it's there, and it will come and bite a man's ass whenever and wherever. So be on guard. Bob's talking about that there female intuition thing. It happens all the time. A guy can't get away with shit.



It's just like at this wedding, when Bob was a young’un back in 1987.

When I finally entered the room, Tanya spotted me, and immediately
came up to me.

“Where have you been?” she said, arching her eyebrows. “You were
gone awhile.”

“Oh, I just grabbed some air outside, and had a chat with Mitchell.”

“What were you talking about for so long?”

“His, uh…, relationship with Laurie and where it was going, or not.” I said.

“You know, their whole on-again, off-again saga with all that major work
and drama.”

“Aha.” She gave me that all-knowing female look. She knew that I’d been
talking about other matters and that likely it related to us. You could never
figure out how they do that.



So just accept it's there, and the sooner your sorry ass understands that, and learns to operate within that paradigm, then the better for your male happiness and well-being in a relationship.

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You’re young and single at some wedding abroad, and things are fine, but then you get the drift that someone feels the need to “fix” things by playing matchmaker with your ass and some friend on the other side.

First warning.

Jimmy McCracken sidled up alongside me, with Cory a step behind us.

“Hey, Bobby, I hear that Bernadette is keen to set you up with her Aussie
friend, Jilli. You should go for it,” he said in his gravelly baritone.

Then in a car on the way to the reception the second warning shot is fired.

“Bernie told me you are at our table, Bob,” said Tammy, changing the
subject. “And so is Jilli.”

She turned her head with a simper to look at
me in the back.

“Sounds like something prearranged” I said warily, looking back at her.

Then, just before the big meal, you still need to do that there “Trust, but verify” thing, which is ever so important, especially in this day and age with the super bogus crap they spin in "The News" to we sorry brainwashed (m)asses.

I checked the seating plan and made my way to the table. Bernadette
had indeed made sure that Jilli was assigned beside me. The fix was in.

Our round table of eight was an equal mix of friends from both sides.



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